


Hot and wet

by imsfire



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Cassian is not actually present, F/M, Fluff, Luxury, New Relationship, although he's in the next room, morning after the night before theme, shower, the title isn't about quite what you think btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 12:23:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11253117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imsfire/pseuds/imsfire
Summary: She’s had a few return debates with Cassian over the last month, about that contentious word luxury.





	Hot and wet

**Author's Note:**

> So I started this about a month ago as a response to the prompt "luxury" back in Jyn Appreciation week; but it got jammed and wouldn't budge. I've just managed to crack the problem by cutting about half the extant text (maybe one day I can use all that discarded material for something else...). That served not only to salvage the story but also to bring it back from "fairly angsty" to "pretty fluffy", which is nice as I've written a lot of angst lately.

Jyn may not have the largest room in Sergeants’ quarters, but she has the one at the end of her corridor, and pretty much everyone agrees that the end rooms are the best. 

The farthest rooms from the mess are nearest to the generator.  Hence nearest to the only source of heat on this whole Force-forsaken ice-plateau.

Someone must have been showing favouritism to allocate Jyn a place here.   She doesn’t care.  She gets the first hot water, scalding fresh off the boilers. 

She’s had a few return debates with Cassian over the last month, about that contentious word luxury.  They both recognise how they’d used it to bruise one another, before.  They’d hefted its ugliest connotations like weapons, to test the new-found trust between them and seek its breaking stress, back in those bitter few days before Scarif.  They’d needed to wind the threads of that anger back, to uncoil the argument before it twisted into a garrotte.  She wasn’t sure how they managed it, with so few words; but the trust had been saved, and so, in the end, had they.

They were alive, against all the odds.  They had found themselves in med-bay in neighbouring beds, with tubes stuck down their throats, and had stared at one another in mute astonished gratitude.  With a second chance like that given to them out of nowhere it would have been insane not to be willing to start anew.  

And talking, when they could speak again, had been fruitful and fascinating.  She’d laughed at the med-droid that offered her the option of therapy for combat stress.  But talking to, talking _with_ , Cassian, was a delight.  They knew the worst of one another already; they could argue politics, they could grieve together and laugh together.  Before one another, alone, they were unashamed.

And that debate, about the personal and the political and the intersections between them; that could run on for years.  She loved it with a passion, having someone to talk to, at last.

And now, something more.  Sharing more than just conversation.

The hot water pouring over her is an animal, primal, physical pleasure, one she cannot begin to express.  It’s a caress.  Like those thin hands moving across her skin, last night, like that hot mouth on her, the wet heat of his lips, his tongue.  The intimacy, unsought, undeniable; she’s been trembling before it for a month and had suddenly given way and reached out; and then there had been no more talking, except what could be done without words.

Jyn rubs her own hands down her skin, massaging a squeeze of soap liquid quickly into her armpits and under her breasts.  Works a dollop from the second bottle on the shelf into her hair and rubs it up into suds; and she stands in the luxury of heat streaming with scented soapy cleanliness, working her fingers through her hair, with the hot water drumming on her skin.  Shampoo bubbles swirl into the drain.

There’s a third bottle beside the others.  She’s only used it once.  The very concept it represents has been unknown for most of her life.  Her hair is clean and feels healthy under her hands; what purpose would be served by making it look _better_?  No-one is looking, after all.

Except now perhaps someone is.  Maybe that’s the biggest luxury of them all.  Bigger than a private ‘fresher, bigger even than hot water.  She has someone to talk to, who will not leave her; she has a lover to hold her and go shyly in search of pleasure with her.

She squeezes out a blob of conditioner and works it into her wet locks, and stands massaging it in, dreamily, with hot water running over her like an endless kiss.


End file.
